My Fragile Boy
by Skyhiatrist
Summary: The thoughts of James from his afterlife. One-shot. My first, quite small fic.


I look in on him every day. Without fail, I watch him make choices. Good ones, bad ones, he's only human. If I could I would tell him it was alright, everyone makes mistakes, but I cannot. The footsteps in which he treds will one day lead him back to me, and it breaks my heart. I don't want to see him here for a very long time. But if he follows the same road I did, the one that is in his very blood even though he cannot see it, he will get here sooner than I'd like. Death comes to us all, at one time or another, and I shall be devestated when it comes to him. And the pain shall be all that more deeper, as I know I will see it happen. My fragile boy, I watch him every day.

I see him reflected in the company he keeps, and I couldn't be prouder. He loves the people who would follow him into Hell, and he would gladly return the favour. Indeed, many a time have the red-headed boy and the intelligent girl walked behind him in battle, ever ready to fight for him, to _die_ for him. It is sad that they both realise they live to keep him alive, they are his protectors, but I am happy that he sees it too. He needs people to trust, to tell him to keep fighting the good fight, no matter what. Without his friends, he would have given up and joined me a long time ago.

Sometimes I will drag my eyes from him, as much as I do not wish to. There are some things it is just not my place to know. His heart's desire, his secret fears. When I first came here, he was so young, and I lamented long and hard at the trials he was going to face without me. It is trying to be marked from birth, but he has taken it all in his stride. Admittedly, a little ungraciously at times, but he isn't made of stone. But when he does break down I wonder, would I be there in a moment, cradling him in my arms, or would I be standing precariusly outside of his door, listening to him weep but not daring to move?

When I see him hurt, it hurts me as well. Every cut, every scratch, every bruise, they are mirrored on my body. Every tear he cries rolls down my cheek, every wall hit in frustration is struck by my balled fist. But every time he smiles, the expression dances across my face. The contentment he feels from being good and right, the resolve he feels to keep going on, it is all here within me too. But the resolve, oh the resolve, how it has faded of late. And I know why. As I watch him sit and observe his friends in another minor tiff, a stocky figure appears beside me and starts watching him too.

"Those kids, always fighting, never really getting along," says a rasping voice. "The audacity they have to call each other friends!" The figure lets out an ammused little laugh, but I say nothing and continue to watch. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"I always am Sirius," I say after a moments pause. "It's so unfair."

"It has to be this way James, you know what the stars hold for him, even if they choose to be vague." He places a hand upon my shoulder.

"I should be there," I say, for what feels like the thousandth time.

"No, my friend, you knew what the stars held for you as well," came the familiar reply. I sigh and tear myself away from my son.

"He's starting to doubt himself Sirius. He doesn't think he can do it, he doesn't _want_ to do it anymore. I can't say that I blame him. These trials would have broken me a long time ago."

"Then thank your lucky stars the boy has more fire inside than you, my old friend," replies Sirius with a hearty chuckle, though I hardly think this is the time. I ache to look back at him, to check he is still there, though I know he will be. Giving up just isn't an option for my son. He will never suffer the man who had murdered me to get the better of him as well. He has a score to settle. My only purpose in life had been to protect him and, for a while, I had. But now I am gone he has to look to others for protection, others he will never fully trust. Except, of course, the two children currently fighting in front of him.

"You think he will be able to cope, Sirius?" I ask quietly.

"I think he is," Sirius said, and we watch as Harry smiles. He must be thinking of us, we are thinking of him.


End file.
